pointless

no one ever loves me
best
so it’s these
rare times
i don’t feel
invisible
that i fall in love
with you
all
over
again…
but before long
i am the
third wheel
a forgotten
point
on your triangle…
invisible
again.

hopefully this is the last “another break-up with dusty” post. hopefully i have worked through all the crap…again.
i did put myself back on okcupid.
good idea or bad idea?

dumping ground

i let you do this
to me
again
i let you in
to my heart
to my home
you
wiped your feet
on my soul
&
shat
on my couch
&
left
in disgust
at the filth
you dumped
all
over
me.

more elaborate metaphors for how i felt as dusty reacted to our break-up. probably our last break-up….

dirty sponge

like a sponge
i have absorbed
every awful
thing
you have said
&
even some
you left
unsaid
like a sponge
dipped
in a dirty toilet
left
in a puddle
of
excrement
i am
clogged
saturated
suffocating
longing
longing
longing
to be wrung out
rinsed
& put in the sun
to dry.

trying to flesh out those severe feelings i was having as dusty dumped all his grief & abandonment issues on my lap.

burned at the stake…again

the messages come
incessantly
outlining
exactly
what a disappointment
i am
what a failure
i am
tying the ropes
building up the log pile
lighting the match
i am left
to twist & burn
& turn
to ashes
as he takes
every good feeling
i had
& throws it on
the fire
i can scream, “why?”
until
my throat is raw
but
he cannot hear me
& my pleas
go unanswered
“it just is,”
i finally tell myself.
“it just is.”

(true story. yup.)

i don’t want to die

i don’t want to die
though
heavy with sadness
& struggling
to pull myself
out again
i don’t want to die
i don’t want to
escape
me
i want to heal
to grow stronger
to open
myself
to change
depression snuggles
into me like
a favorite sweater
but this time
i am looking
forward
to not getting lost
in it
but to taking
it off again
to feel the cool wind
on bare skin
ready
to grow
again.

this was written as i was getting a barrage of abusive text messages from dusty. i was struggling to keep my head up as i absorbed all the awful things he said about me.
i think i did manage to stay above it
even if sometimes i still felt like sinking….

sharp stick

my cruel
subconscious
that two-faced
cunt
has to know
what a mess i am
(it has a front row seat
to my pain)
so
why does it wait
until i am
asleep
vulnerable
to take a stick
&
poke me hard
in the tender spots
with dreams
of you?

nothing like a fresh obsession to get the journal pages going again.

while i wait for my latest case of obsession to pass, i am thankful that i am not really able to ride my bike past his house three times a day as he lives three states away.
and i have a houseful of kids
a yardful of critters
depending on me to not jump in the river of crazy and swim away.
so there is that.

ruin me

creeping
uninvited
unwanted
my self-conscious with a cruel
twist
brings him to life
in my dreams
again
i push him out
turn off the radio
when
our song plays
write one thousand poems
to exorcise
his haunting of me
yet!
he creeps
uninvited…unwanted
back
into my dreams
where i am
defenseless
back
into my heart
where i am
ruined
all
over
again.

do not disturb

of course i’m falling down
try to walk around
with this broken heart
of course i need time
to rest; to heal
carrying the weight
of my bruised & battered
soul
i need my cocoon right now
but y’all know what happens
when this worn down
tired out
broken & struggling
creepy crawler gets a chance
to rest
to recover?

i guess if i’m going to let dusty break my heart for nine or twelve years, i can go ahead and take a week–or however long i need, goddammit–to recover.
back in the last century, after seymour & i broke up, i was seeing a therapist who started pushing pills on me because i was depressed. i fired her saying, “of course i’m fucking depressed, i just broke up with my fiance.”
seriously!
it’s like in this culture you aren’t allowed to suffer through anything. it’s weird to just suffer through. instead, here, take a pill.
suffering is part of healing. i don’t give a fuck what anyone says. i have to be sad right now. my second marriage (though it legally ended in 2010 & physically ended last year) just ended for me. i still had a little bit of hope for a happy ending hiding somewhere in my mind.
that hope just died.
of course i’m fucking depressed. of course i just want to sleep & do nothing else. and you know what i realized this morning? as much as possible, i should sleep & do nothing else. i should take care of myself. i should give myself time to heal.

so listen up world, i’m going to give myself time to heal. i’m not going to rush it or feel like i have to push through the pain or sedate** the pain.
i’m going to feel it.
feel the pain so i can feel how fucking good it feels when that pain goes away.

**(please note that i am not a medical professional, & i do not suffer from clinical depression or reference clinical depression when i do reference depression. also, i am being more metaphorical than literal…though i did have two unmedicated births, i cannot make it through a migraine without taking a tylenol.)

only human

you will never know how much
i mourn that we are not
a happily ever after. i mean
how sweet would that be?
forever love with the man
who’s four children i have birthed?
a team? the same team?
all of us–together? instead of this
terminal, yawning loneliness.
instead of struggling alone
alone alone alone
to raise four kids?
you will never know how my heart
breaks & how i believe i will
spend the rest of my life
alone & lonely.
that that part of me that craves
a connection will just dry up
& blow away in the wind.
i wish things were different.
with all my heart i wish everything
were different. i do.
but no matter how hard i wish…
nothing changes.

i have had this illustration idea in my head for the past few journal pages i have done. but when i went to draw it, other images appeared instead. so it finally found its home with this journal entry. while typing out the journal entry, i was happily surprised to see i drew dandelions in a post about wishes & blowing away in the wind. see…part of me is paying attention.

(note to self:  ask fidgit to teach me to draw a snail.)

dusty asked me if i ever cried watching other people play with their kids. he wanted to let me know how much he missed the kids when they are with me.
i could only respond by telling him how i cry every time i see a happy couple. every time someone clearly loves their wife. every time i see a normal functioning pair of humans.

humans.
that’s what poppy calls people. he asked me if i was reaching for a tree in this picture. i asked him where the tree is. he responded by asking if i was reaching for a human (he pronounces it “who-man.”) i told him, yes, i am reaching for a human.

the worst thing

what’s the worst thing
you can do
to the girl
who is full of anxiety
constantly looking to her worst-case-scenario
the girl with the abandonment
escapism
issues?
you.
her diabetic boyfriend
her diabetic fiance
the love of her life
you know what you could do?
you could go into insulin shock
once a week–at least
you could do that while you’re driving
even
crash your truck into a utility pole
& laugh it off
leaving her desperate
& terrified
you could do that
while never-ever realizing
never-ever admitting
that you are hurting her.

you were happy to let me take the blame
when our world fell apart.

this one. the one i should be over by now. but–you know–stuff it all down deep enough & you won’t have to deal with it. just keep piling more crap on top of it.
except…it seeps out. and i end up sending him psychotic communications. desperate pleas for forgiveness. and he just plays me like a game as usual.
i did awful things in that relationship. things out of my character. things i have never done to anyone else. and all i can do is blame myself…but what if i did it because i was so scared he was going to die on me?
i was sure i would come home & find him dead. so many times i came home to find him convulsing in insulin shock. what happens the one time i don’t make it home in time?

me.
a girl terrified of death. a girl terrified of being alone. a girl who would shut down rather than risk feeling for a creature that might die on her….

fuck the fuck.

it hurts so much to let this surface. i guess that’s good?  i mean–is healing supposed to hurt this much?

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